Polly want a cracker!

The Boy is talking up a storm nowadays, and has taken to parroting back random words and sentences. I must say it's awfully darn cute, but it does mean I really need to start watching what I say around him. It doesn't matter how adorable he is when he tries to pronounce "genitalia," The Wife still frowns on it.

so.... how's things?

Like most mortals when faced with a blank screen (or to be old school, a blank piece of paper) I find my mind suddenly empty of all the things I meant to say whenever I try to write a blog post. A month of making mental notes about The Boy's behavior have come to naught, so I start writing this in the hopes that some subterranean inspiration will dig its way up to the surface of my psyche long enough for me to club it and drag it out into the open.

Ironically, the first memory that comes to mind is of violence. Or the threat of violence. Or, to be honest, just threats of mild discipline. The Boy has gotten to the point where he understands cause and effect pretty well, so I can say things like, "If you don't pick up your toys you can't watch TV," or "If you don't eat your meat you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?"

It's nice being able to reason with him somewhat, though he still firmly believes that the laws of the house (and sometimes the laws of physics) don't really apply to him. I mean, we've only got a handful of rules that we enforce, like not playing with sharp knives or the gas oven, but he still insists on trying to push these rare limits. I'm very tempted to just make up some arbitrary rules, like having to hop on one foot to get a cookie or dancing the funky chicken to stay up past his bedtime.